Beyond The Grave
by shattered petal
Summary: All her life, she has fought a war.


**Title**: Beyond The Grave  
**Rating**: T  
**Genres**: Horror/Friendship

* * *

'You've got guts, kiddo.'

The handle burned her flesh, bruised her arms, but she continued to dig, the sharp shovel stabbing the earth. By now, her companion had given in, seated at the side of the hole, watching her bury deeper and deeper. It was admirable how she continued, how she just _obeyed_.

Stupid, though. He knew exactly what her motives were. 'I think you're an idiot. What're you trying to achieve? You want the Sergeant to praise you with gold and medals? Well it ain't happening. We both know he's got issues against me and you. The guy's a sexist, racist pig.'

While his words were brutal and honest, she didn't respond. There was no reason to, no point. Not when the man they accused wasn't standing above their heads, grinning.

And he noticed. He raised his eyebrows, and turned away. By now, watching her dig and dig appeared horrific. The labour she forced herself through was wrong. She was desperate, eager to please, and it angered him. It angered him because there was something very wrong with the world, and they were useless puppets, halos hovering over their crowns, and yet no one listened, no one cared.

'You got it worse, kiddo. He might realise I'm okay, but that's only because I'm a man. I got a pair of balls, but you got nothing. You have to prove much more, and you know what? That sucks. It's bullshit, and I think I'm the only guy here who notices how shit this is.'

The shovel never stopped digging. She didn't quit, didn't turn around to nod her head or make some gesture that she agreed. Her back remained faced to him, and she continued, again and again, and he looked away once more, seething.

A pause in his thoughts. He swallowed, then swerved his gaze back to her. The blue uniform unsettled him. It was dirty, virtually ripping due to the amount of abuse she had received. The first time he met her, she was beautiful: long, blonde hair, pale skin, wonderful eyes and a figure he liked to look at.

It disturbed him how she had transformed into a soldier so fast. Her hair was cut short, pale skin bruised. She hadn't even entered battle yet and she was already fighting wars, standing her ground and refusing to be beaten to a pulp by a man who looked down on her gender.

They all doubted her because she was female. Because a woman should only offer children, support the man, and let him be. A woman shouldn't involve themselves with work that only a _man_ should do. She was stepping into the wrong grounds, ground that tumbled beneath her light step. He always admired her from afar, but frowned at how she didn't speak up. She never spoke, her lips tightly pressed together while their Sergeant spat at her.

Any day, he would speak up for her sake. But at night, when he could think, he would stare up at the ceiling and realise she didn't need anyone to support her. She was so strong _nothing_ could make her tremble. Yet she had to use her voice sometime, before it became too much... she had to. _Must_ do.

'Stop digging. Just because that asshole told you to, doesn't mean you _have_ to do it.'

Not to his surprise, she didn't stop.

'You're only playing along his assumptions. That you do what you're told. Hey, at least I know when I'm being treated like shit for something I didn't do!' Then he stood, shoulders back and glaring at her. 'At least I know when I should stop.' The shovel in his grip was thrown to the ground and he waited. 'You gonna follow me, comrade? Or suck up to his shit?'

That was when she stopped digging, if only for a moment. She still didn't look at him, but now he was aware he had her full attention. Folding his arms he cocked a brow, hoping she would also drop her shovel, but she never did.

'You don't have to dig your own grave.'

His statement hung in the dusty air.

'You ain't gonna die yet. Not on my watch.'

A sigh escaped her lips and when she spoke, it wasn't full of aggression, like his. Instead, her voice was calm, collected. Forward. She knew what was happening. 'I have no intention to die here, nor do I have any intention to quit here.'

'You're not quitting! You're just telling that asshole you don't have to deal with his shit.'

She shrugged. 'I'm not going to deny he has an issue against me, and whether or not said issue is because I'm female, the fact I come from a well-off family or simply because I displease him someway, I'm not going to stand on his foot for it.'

'Why?'

'The soldier who complains about what his commander tells him to do is a waste of time. Your commander offers you challenges, and our Sergeant clearly wants me to back down from the challenges he gives me. He wants me to surrender because, according to him, every woman does. When he sees me, all he sees is a woman. Even if I confronted him with two guns in my hands, he'll still see me as nothing but a woman. I don't frighten him because he doubts my abilities.'

Olivier turned, dropped her gaze to the shovel her companion threw to the ground. Then she approached the tool, and handed it back to him.

'I know it'll take a long time for me to be given his acceptance. What did you think I expected? For everybody to welcome me with open arms? He isn't the only one who disapproves of my presence.'

At first he hesitated then took the shovel back. 'Is this about your old man?'

Maybe it was exhaustion or maybe she didn't care about his question, but he expected some sort of insulted response. At least a frown or for her to turn away.

She didn't. Instead piercing blue eyes met his green. 'If I return home because I've been treated unfairly, he will, finally, be pleased with me. I have always wanted to make him proud, but the day I was born he didn't even smile. He was disappointed I wasn't a boy. It seems everyone has been.'

A pause, and then she stabbed the ground with the shovel.

'My gender has nothing to do with my strength, my knowledge, or my ability to adapt. Unfortunately, we are surrounded by people who believe otherwise. What we're doing is two steps forward and one step back. Changing a man's view of the world won't happen overnight. My father wants me to return home, and be his little girl, to not do his duty. He wants me to admit he's _right_.'

'What if you change your mind? What if, one day, you _do_ want to return home?'

'I won't. I'd rather die than admit defeat.' She twitched a smile. 'So, will you help me dig our grave, or allow yourself to be wounded?'

He snorted and tightened his grip on the tool. 'Fine then. Let's be puppets. _Woman_.'

They dug for hours, and when his arms and thighs felt like they would break, he looked at her, hoping she had stopped too, but she never did. She expressed no signs of agony, no signs of giving in and he scoffed in exasperation. But never again did he throw his shovel down and walk away. He decided to trust her.

When the moon vanished from the sky and the sun granted them a morning of heat and torture, he seethed in pain. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his stomach growled and his throat scorched. His shoulders ached, and his eyes felt swollen.

No mercy was granted. The hole they had dug up was so large he wondered if they would be able to escape. Then he laughed, deciding to admire their work.

'That asshole better be surprised.'

She doubted such an honour would happen. When the time came, their Sergeant arrived. He yelled at them to stand, to salute and wait for his approval. The man inspected the grave, smirked, and looked between the two.

'Good work, Black. You can give yourself the night off.'

Olivier noticed her companion tense. Swallow. 'Thank you, sir.'

'Armstrong, I have plenty more for you to do. Get out of the grave and come with me now.'

Without a second thought she made her way. The climb out wasn't as difficult as Black assumed, and when they reached the top, the Sergeant grabbed Olivier by the arm and pushed her in the direction of her next duty. Black remained put, and had to clench his fist from not speaking.

He needed to trust her.

Her next chore involved cleaning the toilets, which was more disgusting than it sounded. Then she was to help serve the grool that was dinner, and only have the remains. Afterwards, she was ordered to run round the track until she threw up.

By nightfall, her Sergeant was still there, one hand on his hip, waiting for her to fall to her knees and be sick.

It came to a point where he screamed at her to stop.

Olivier was shivering, trembling, barely capable of standing but she said nothing. She didn't complain or burst into tears. And this–– he noticed this. He _noticed_ this, and didn't understand.

When he approached she clicked her heels together and saluted.

'Put your hand down, Armstrong. Go to bed. You need to sleep.' He turned around, walked forwards a bit, then halted. 'Give yourself an extra hour. I don't want you collapsing tomorrow.' Then he was gone.

Olivier exhaled slowly, relieved she had done well.

* * *

'He actually gave you an _extra hour_?' Black stared at her in disbelief. 'Was he drunk?'

Breakfast that morning was, as always, revolting. However all the cadets were starving and knew it would be silly if they refused to eat. Olivier hungrily engorged her food, and didn't answer his question until her bowl was empty.

'Not that I recall.'

'Bloody Hell,' he said. 'Maybe he's realising you're not so bad after all.'

'Maybe.'

'Still, the way he treated you was well out-of-order. You should report him.'

'What for?' Olivier asked. 'For being mean to me?'

'For _abusing_ you.'

'Name me one cadet here who hasn't whined about being abused.'

Black shoved a spoonful of breakfast into his mouth, then snorted. 'You.'

'At least he's off your back now.'

'I don't know. He still gives me the stink eye every now and again.'

The justification for their Sergeant to act cruelly to Black was little. Olivier was aware of his droopy lower lip, and how one his eyelids refused to open. Most considered him a freak because of his odd facial structure.

Black was a couple of years older than Olivier, hence why he liked to call her "kiddo", but, out of everyone, he was the only person who spoke to her. Olivier was naturally distant anyway, yet it would be foolish to reject complete companionship. She needed a partner. Everyone did.

The two were disturbed by four males who arrived at their table. At once Olivier's heart dropped, recognising the group. One of them, the assumed leader of the gang, had an angular, tanned face, with dark eyes. His hair was cut short, and whenever he grinned his teeth were always shown, white and glistening.

Most ladies would be running after him and he would enjoy it. Not Olivier though. This boy was trouble, someone taken to prison on countless occasions. He was here to be disciplined, but she didn't feel as if he was being disciplined enough.

'Hello, ladies,' he said.

'Piss off, Ford. You and your girlfriends can skip elsewhere.'

Ford chortled. 'Feisty, Black. I'm shocked that droopy lip of yours doesn't disable you from speaking.'

'Can we help?' Olivier queried.

The male looked at her, then raised his chin. 'Hear about what we're doing today? Sergeant is getting us all to test our stealth. This involves guns.'

Olivier rolled her eyes. 'Guns which aren't loaded with bullets, idiot.'

'Ah yeah.' Ford smiled. 'You are absolutely right, Armstrong. No bullets. None.'

Slowly, Olivier raised a brow. 'What are you proposing? A little dual between us?' She shook her head in disbelief. 'You're even more pathetic than I first imagined.'

'I'm flattered you imagine me.'

Black scowled. 'Fuck off.'

'Suck my dick, mate. You two are what keeps getting the Sergeant mad all the time, and it's starting to get to me and my pals that neither of you are hurrying home. Especially you, princess. You know what? I'm gonna do him a favour. Make sure you're out of his way, and then we'll see who's given the quickest promotion.'

'You really think that's gonna work?' Black challenged, grinning. 'You're full of shit, you know that? I can't wait for the day you're thrown back in jail. I may not be General by that time, but I'll be laughing. I feel sorry for you. You blame your parents' death on everybody else. Well I ain't feel no sympathy for you, you bottom-feeder.'

Instantly Ford jumped to his feet but one of his friends held him down. Olivier observed, noticed how Black continued to smirk, as if begging him to throw a punch.

Ford sighed.  
Didn't move.

'Good day, you two.'

They watched him and the other three walk away in silence. Olivier clenched her fist under the table, looked at Black, and then dropped her gaze.

'If they want to a war, we'll give 'em a war, right, kiddo?'

Olivier looked in the direction Ford walked away. Then she smiled. 'Of course.'

* * *

That night would remain unforgettable. What didn't come as a surprise was that the Sergeant supplied Olivier with less dummy ammo than the others. However, what did come as a surprise was that Ford was given the same treatment.

The game was simple: if you were shot, you had lost. The key to winning was stealth and catching your enemy by surprise. A hunt. The master won, and Olivier was determined to be this master.

Their hunting ground was outside, occupied by trees. Excellent to hide behind. It was night, and the moon was hidden by clouds. The only source of light came from their torches. Olivier was thrilled, but not stupid. She wasn't so excited she would reveal her weakest spot.

Ford's whereabouts were unknown, but she had seen him before they were divided. She saw he was nervous, that his hands were shaking and she wondered if he was scared. That either Black or her had taken his threat seriously, and they were loaded with ammo.

Whatever the case, she wouldn't assume so much of him.

Trees whizzed past while she dashed. She would stop, listen, aim, shoot. The ordeal wasn't tricky. Most cadets weren't as skilled, they weren't as prepared, and they didn't expect much from a woman. The hours ticked past and never did she let down her guard, nor did she expect to.

It was when the moon showed its face did she realise that morning was beginning to rise. Olivier looked forwards, past the row of trees, then heard footsteps. They were quick, and then they suddenly stopped. A skid. 'Oi, kiddo.'

Olivier turned and watched Black approach her.

'I'm going to help you, then you can ditch me when we're done. I want the Sergeant to be impressed with you for once.'

'What makes you think he isn't already?' Of course she remained on edge about his proposal, but Black was too honest. Much too honest and she considered this a flaw.

They proceeded onwards together, through the long grass. The night was silent, almost haunting, and the air was getting colder. Ten minutes passed, fifteen, seventeen, and still no signs of anyone.

'I think we're the last of few.'

'You might be right.'

'What was that?'

... silence.

'What was what?'

... _click_...

'That.'

Olivier pointed her weapon in the direction of the noise. She carefully took a step forwards, kept her eyes wide, ears alert. Another noise was heard from her left, then behind.

_There's more than one_.

And then she saw him. Ford. A gun was in his hand and he stared at her, mouth ajar, and Black yelled, then shot.

But he had already ran off. Before Olivier could say anything, Black bolted past her and chased after the boy. Olivier growled in irritation and followed, only a couple of steps behind. Black yelled again, and then pointed his gun at Ford.

Before he pulled the trigger, a blast of bullets flew from the right.

'Fuck!' Black exclaimed, falling to the ground.

Olivier cursed. They had to move. Bullets whizzed past, one grazed her ear. She grabbed onto Black and pulled him, literally dragging the boy away from the herd of bullets. Finally, they ceased once they were hidden behind a row of trees. Black gasped.

'Bullets... Those motherfuckers had bullets, kiddo. They want to kill us. It was a trap.'

They _were_ in a trap. Olivier peered around the trunk, noticed the four boys discussing, pointing at the tree. Then Ford yelled, 'Get out from there, you cowards! If you're so full of it, Black, then show yourself!'

Olivier accepted the fact that they were not only outnumbered, but their resources did not match to the others'.

'I'll show you why women don't belong here! Come out, you fucking bitch! I'll bring you back to your daddy in _pieces_!'

Taking hold of the scruff of Black's collar, she shook him. 'Quit it. This isn't any time to cry. If you really are as tough as you showed him to be, then show him. I'm not going to hide.'

'He'll kill you,' Black whispered.

'Well, he's capable of it, that's for sure.'

Olivier picked up her gun, inhaled, then considered what she could do. The ammo she possessed wasn't real, but it was a good distraction. It shocked the enemy, and if she could shock the boys, then they could run quickly.

'Shoot them. _Now_.'

In one quick movement, Olivier spun on her heel and fired. The dummy ammo hit the the four boys and they sprayed their bullets in the wrong direction from shock. Then Olivier yanked on Black's collar and they ran, they ran fast and they continued to run.

Olivier checked her magazine, only to realise it was empty. 'Shit.' Black was in the same position.

Unfortunately it appeared no one, aside from them, were aware Ford and the others had real bullets in their possession. It took Olivier a moment to realise she, Black and the other four were who remained. And Ford intended to kill them. To prove he _didn't_ lie.

It was another challenge thrust at her, because she was a woman. Because she was different. But no way was she backing down. Never.

They turned, dashed onwards, and were disturbed by another ring of bullets. These missed her by an inch, and she saw the enemy. He was close, much too close, and he wasn't aware of her speed.

Olivier ducked, skidded and tripped him over. The boy exclaimed, and released his grip on the pistol. Olivier snatched it from the ground, straddled the boy's back and aimed the gun at his head. Black stopped, held his breath.

The shot echoed the arena.

And they were running again. This time Olivier was armed, and she had killed. She had killed.

'I think you just _murdered_ him, kiddo.'

Olivier checked the magazine of her pistol, noticed there were six bullets remaining. 'Good.'

It seemed they were running forever. Black kept checking behind his shoulder, expecting the three boys to chase after them. They weren't seen, and he wondered if they had outrun them. However he didn't stop to check.

'You'd better kill them all, kiddo. I know you are more than capable of spraying their brains everywhere.'

Olivier wanted to thank him, the encouragement was helping, but she didn't speak. She couldn't waste breath. She couldn't distract her ears. They needed to hear.

It was when they heard a bullet ring did they finally stop. Olivier aimed her pistol, and waited.

'Excellent! Excellent. Nice to know you're willing to _kill_ someone, you sick bitch.'

Olivier said nothing.

'Only out of defence,' Black retorted, spitting. '_You're_ the one who is sick for shooting us in the first place. You really hate us for our appearance?'

'A woman doesn't belong here,' Ford muttered, stepping closer. He watched Olivier intently. Then his lower lip trembled. 'They become insane. They _don't_ know how to survive. What's more, they don't know how to control men. They don't see woman as anything to obey. Armstrong, I'm more _advising_ you that you're making a mistake.'

'How is killing me supposed to help me?' Olivier asked, never lowering her gun.

'I know you can't be tamed,' Ford seethed. 'It's too late for you, isn't it? Too late. But hey, I'm going to finish you early, make sure you're done before you receive anymore torture. I know you hate it here. I know it hurts when the Sergeant refuses to look you in the eye. I know you _hate_ the way no one respects you because you're a girl. So I'm going to relieve you of your misery.'

'Bullshit,' Olivier murmured. 'You just hate me.'

'I'm proving a point that I, a man, am far more powerful than you, a woman, ever will be.'

'You forget one thing: I'm not _just_ a woman. Unlike you, I'm also a soldier who knows what war is like. I have fought my whole life. You have only basked in flattery.' Olivier shook her head. 'Welcome to the real world.' And then she fired.

Ford twitched violently, and blood sprayed from his shoulder. The entire forest fell silent while he collapsed to the ground. A pause. A shatter. An exhale.

A scream.

They came like rain. One after the other, each bullet exchanged between them, aimlessly. The anger and loathing which controlled their minds scarred Olivier, but she never let the trigger go. Black attempted to distract their opponents with his own dummy bullets, and they worked for only a couple of seconds.

When he was shot, she didn't notice.

Soon, the arena was quiet once more. Blood puddled the earth, and Olivier waited, waited for the boys to rise, to try again, but she had won. Was master.

'Black.' She knelt down to him and found where he had been shot. Ripping away at part of his uniform, she pressed it against the wound and he struggled, asking what she was doing. 'You're losing blood.' He had been shot just below the throat. 'If you lose too much...' It was clear what would happen.

The boy gasped, and let his head fall to the ground. He exhaled slowly, closed his eyes. 'I'm dying.'

'That doesn't mean you have to die,' Olivier persisted. 'Don't be stupid.'

Black said nothing for a while, watching Olivier inspect the wound, pressing the fabric against the injury harder. 'That was worth it, kiddo. Those assholes had it coming.' Then his smile faded. 'You'll be arrested, though. They ain't gonna like what you've done.'

'I would have died if I surrendered.' Olivier turned her gaze to the corpses. 'And I don't ever surrender.' Then she looked at him, claimed his jacket. 'You have to get up. We have to get help.'

'I'm not going anywhere,' Black said.

Olivier frowned. 'What? You _are_.'

'To what?' Black choked, and blood spluttered between his lips. 'I'll only be taken back home, and I'm... I'm pretty sure you said you'd rather die in battle, then go home. Am I right?'

No response.

'That, just there, was our own war. And we won.'

Olivier didn't know what to say. All she could do was nod and accept his decision. Seconds and minutes passed, and when she looked at him again, she noticed how his one open eye was now closed, and he seemed to be resting. His chest rose, then fell, rose, then fell...

_Bang_!

The bullet stabbed her back.

_Bang_!

Another bullet. Hot pain coursed from her shoulder, travelled to her waist, spread across her body––

The gun in her hand clicked, her form exploded with rage and she fired her last bullet. Ford stood there, eyes wide, the weapon in his grip aimed at her. The hole in his forehead was hollow, and he was limp, crumbling to the ground.

Pressing a hand against Black's chest, she felt him breathe, breathe, breathe.

The wounds soon felt numb, and she watched the blood trickle down her blue uniform, paint the grass. Then the grass started moving, it was disturbed, and she felt something on her cheeks, then realised it was rain.

It was raining. Soon, it was raining hard, washing away the blood and dirt, washing away the horror. And she waited, eyes closed, gun in hand, waited for him to stop breathing. When he did, when his chest ceased to move, Olivier still didn't admit surrender.

The woman looked at the gun which lay in Ford's open palm. She groaned when she moved, seethed in pain when she crawled, but soon the gun was in her grip and she pointed it at the sky, and shot the rain.

Finally the battle had ceased, but in her mind there was still a war. But next time, she would not be alone. Next time, she would have an army, standing beside her.

And they would be unruled, Godless angels.

* * *

'You're lucky to have survived; your parents were very worried.'

_Worried. They cared_._ They doubted_.

'I'm impressed.'

_Surprised_.

'And I'm also sorry. In fact, I don't think sorry can suffice.'

_Nothing can suffice what she had been through, and what she had yet to go through_.

'You and Black held up a fight out there.'

_Black. Her comrade. Friend_.

'If you'd like, Armstrong, we can grant you a year to recover.'

'I don't need to recover.'

'This has nothing to do with how capable you are. I know you're better than most cadets, than all of them. This is for your health.'

'I don't need to recover.'

_Hesitance. He doesn't know how to respond because she's stupid, but different. He doesn't even know if she's human anymore. Looking at her, he tries to study her eyes, maybe register a hint of defeat or exhaustion. But her eyes are like ice, unmoved, untouchable, fearless and chilling._

'Very well.'

_And he surrenders_. _From then on, all men shall surrender under her wake_.

'Do not think you shall escape these deaths, though. While I know you were defending yourself, it is difficult to name you completely innocent of your deeds.'

_Another challenge. Another grave to dig_.

'Your Sergeant will escort you to a prison, one where the troubled head. It's a place where you are trained and disciplined, harsher than here. Unfortunately the building is quite run down now. The commander is growing old and the place is a dump. But... I think you'll fit well there.'

_He stands and she stands, but carefully. Her wounds are still healing. Then he offers a hand to shake._

'I'm sorry about Black's death.'

_No response. _

'So what do you say? Care to do your bidding?'

_She shakes his hand._

'The prison is called Fort Briggs. You might have heard of it before.'

_The Wall. The Fort. She knows hungry bears occupy the defence, and wolves patrol its borders.  
__Yes. It is a place for her, she thinks_.


End file.
